


Rumination

by morningCrescent



Series: Bros With Benefits [5]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 12:54:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1305586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morningCrescent/pseuds/morningCrescent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave and Karkat do some thinking, talking, kissing, and cuddling. Not necessarily in that order.</p><p>(alternately titled Insecure Babies Talk About Their Feelings)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rumination

**Author's Note:**

> don't even ask me what this is. i'm sorry.

Karkat always falls asleep after sex. He says it has something to do with how producing genetic material really takes a toll on a troll’s metabolism or some shit, so he needs to nap for a few hours to regain the energy. He also tends to be ravenous when he wakes up, scarfing down mad snacks like nobody’s business.

It’s kind of adorable, you think.

The two of you are presently curled around each other in your bed. You know you don’t need to snuggle with him the whole time, but what can you say, you actually… really like doing it. Not that you’d ever let anyone know that. You just like cuddling up against his warmth, feeling the rhythmic expansion and contraction of his ribcage, running your fingers through his hair, listening to the soft huffing sounds escaping his pursed lips, watching his eyelids flutter and his face relax—sometimes you’re even lucky enough to catch a smile.

Hell, you love him. You love everything about him. His eyes, all gold and black with flecks of red; his voice, scratchy and rough but also thick and sweet, like caramel with those little hazelnut crunchies; the way he cares so much about everyone but never wants to admit it.

You’re not even sure anymore when you started being attracted to him. Definitely before you actually became friends, you know that much. You guess there was never a definite point when it happened; it was more of a gradual process. You just started noticing things about him, like how flustered he got when he made another one of his hilarious accidental innuendos. Or how he was constantly watching over everyone like a concerned mother, keeping tabs on everybody’s whereabouts and making sure everyone was safe, even though he denied ever doing so. Or how his hands felt on your body when you would scuffle, how his lips moved when he talked, how his nose wrinkled when he yelled…

It got to the point where you were having trouble counting the times when you _weren’t_ thinking about him. Of course, it didn’t help when you started becoming friends and hanging out more; just being near him started making you antsy. It also didn’t help that you were all in the throes of puberty, and eventually your thoughts towards him started to turn sexual. Like, _really_ sexual. Like he would pop into your head when you were jacking off. Like just his presence or the sound of his voice was enough to turn you on. Like you would wake up from incredibly vivid dreams about him with your hand already halfway down your pants. Fuck, you _wanted_ him so bad.

You wonder how long he wanted you back. You did start noticing the signs somewhere along the way, but you knew he would never make the first move. So when you had finally worked up the courage and found yourself alone with him, you pounced. You were scared out of your mind, sure, but he had presented the perfect opportunity and you figured it was as good a chance as you were ever going to get, and when he reciprocated it was a fucking godsend, a dream come true.

Of course, you still weren’t sure where that left your relationship with him. You were bros, sure, but you also antagonized each other often enough that you worried Karkat might have been getting the wrong idea; you just weren’t interested in that whole quadrant business. You sort of tried it with Terezi, but that didn’t get very far before you decided you were better off as friends anyway.

But with Karkat… things were a little more complicated. At some point, it stopped being just physical attraction. You couldn’t tell if it was your feelings of broship spilling over, or if there was really something there, so you agreed not to define anything for the time being. As things continued, though, you found yourself looking at him fondly, wanting to be closer to him, admiring things about him you’d never really found significant before, and eventually… well, you started to understand what trolls meant by ‘pity’.

He’d been through so much—you all had—and he carried the burden of everything that had happened. You could see it in the dark circles under his eyes, in the slight downward curve of his mouth, in the hunch of his shoulders, in the almost perpetual furrow of his brow. You just wanted to take some of that ache away from him. Even when the two of you were goofing off and being dorks together, you could still see the sadness lingering just behind his eyes and it made you want to hold him and keep him safe and tell him everything was going to be okay.

Those feelings had confused you for a while. It took some time before you were even willing to entertain the idea of loving him, of being _in love_ with him. It just seemed like such a foreign concept. Heck, you’d never even considered it as a possibility in your life. People like you didn’t fall in love. People like you couldn’t, didn't know how to, didn’t deserve to, couldn’t afford to.

But every time you saw him, every time you were with him, that feeling kept coming back and it kept getting stronger. When his clothes came off, you couldn’t help but stare at his entire body, overcome with the desire to touch him all over. Every scar, every stretch mark, every bone and muscle and curve. You wanted to tell him how beautiful and perfect you thought he was, but any time you tried, he shot you down.

It’s true, though. He’s this gorgeous, wiry little thing, kind of small and compact and densely packed with muscle, with a little bit of squish around the belly and thighs. You’re actually not entirely sure what the best words are to describe him; he’s short but not stocky, muscled but not bulky. You don’t care what the words are. All you know is that he’s hot as fuck and you’ll keep telling him that as long as it takes for him to believe it, and even then you’ll probably keep saying it.

(You’ll definitely keep saying it. Wow, you are really fucking gay.)

Your thoughts are abruptly brought back to the present when you hear Karkat stirring. He’s making a noise somewhere between a cat and an insect, and you can’t decide if it’s weird or adorable. Probably both. Okay, definitely both.

His eyelids flutter open and he scrunches his face up as his eyes adjust to the light.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” you say. He grumbles and butts his head against your nose.

“You’re a dumb.”

“You love me.”

“Shut up.”

You lay there in silence for a few minutes with Karkat curled around you, tangled in a blanket, the vibrations from his chest rumbling through both of you. You play with his hair and hum and stare affectionately at his face like some fucking sap out of one of his romcoms. As he starts really waking up, you notice his expression changing and you think you see something like distress flash across his face briefly before settling into something more neutral. You give him a gentle tap on the horn.

“You okay?” you ask.

“Mm,” is all he says.

“What’s up? Seriously, talk to me.”

“Nothing. I‘m fine.” And you can see immediately in the subtle creases above his eyebrows and tightness of his jaw that he’s thinking it again. _Those_ kinds of thoughts. You wrap your arms tighter around him.

“Shit, Kitkat, baby, no, it’s okay, shh,” you murmur comfortingly (you hope) into his hair. You know he gets like this sometimes, he gets into these states where he remembers how shitty he thinks he is and you know he hates himself and it breaks your fucking heart because you know there’s only so much you can do about it. (You can relate, though; you’ve long wrestled with feelings of inferiority—inferiority to your Bro, to John—and you still occasionally struggle to reconcile your confident persona with your deep-seated insecurities and wow now is really not the fucking time to be getting all introspective, Rose must be rubbing off on you.)

“Shh, hey, stop it, I know what you’re thinking and I order you to stop.” He squirms in your grasp but doesn’t fight your hold on him.

“The only thing that needs to stop is you shooshing me like some pale fucker.” And now he’s grumpy.

“Just talk to me. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“I’m feeling like you need to shut the fuck up.”

“Jesus Christ, Karkat, I can’t help you if you keep brushing me off.”

“Well who said I even wanted your help?” he says sternly, extricating himself from your arms and turning away from you. You sigh, not sure what to say next. You didn’t mean to make him upset. Then he huffs softly and says, “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” you sigh.

“Fuck, I just can’t… I’m such a fuckup.”

“Yeah, pretty sure that’s not true.” He turns back to you, his eyes avoiding yours.

“Literally nothing good has come of my existence. Can you name something? No? I didn’t fucking think so.”

“You don’t think whatever we’ve got is pretty good?”

“Pff. You’ll get sick of me.”

“Why in the actual fuck would you think that?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because I am literally the shittiest piece of organic matter that ever managed to stumble its way ass-first into sentience, and it probably won’t be long before you realize I’m just a massive waste of your time because I’m a horrible useless piece of shit? Maybe because I’m a disgusting, pathetic excuse for a troll that should have been culled the second I had the audacity to start existing? Maybe because nothing good can ever happen to me without the universe screwing me over as one last giant FUCK YOU?”

“Dude, okay, that is like completely stupid. First of all, you are hella cute.” You boop him on the nose to emphasize your point and he furrows his brow at you. “And you are not a waste of time. I’d be bored out of my skull without you, considering there’s fuck-all else to do here. And like, I really like you, man. And if _I_ like you, that means you are officially a-okay. So stop hating on yourself. And stop thinking you’re not hot because I’m like seriously so attracted to you, you have no idea.”

He furrows his brow further, looking like he’s trying to figure out how to feel about what you’ve just said.

“Come on, bro,” you wheedle, moving towards him and poking at his sides, “you got a sexy body.”

He laughs a little and smushes his hand against the middle of your face. “How would you even know, you loser? You probably need glasses.”

“Hey man, my peepers ain’t perfect but I’m a Strider, and Striders know hot when they see it. And I know for a fact that you are the cutest cute to ever cute.”

“Yeah well you’re the lamest lame to ever lame.” He smiles a little, though, and you can’t hold yourself back anymore. You grab him and pull him tight against you and nuzzle into his hair, kissing the top of his head and laughing.

“Augh, why are you so fucking cute? It’s not fair.” It really isn’t. This kid is going to break you one of these days; your brain just can’t handle how fucking adorable he is.

“Idiot. Why do I even like you?”

“Because shut up, that’s why.”

“You’re a dork.” He sighs and settles onto his back, eyes fixed on some arbitrary point on the ceiling.

“I’m _your_ dork,” you reply, mimicking his position and holding his hand against your chest. You flick your eyes towards him, and he seems to be in better spirits, but he also looks… sadly wistful, or something. You nudge his foot with your own.

“I shouldn’t exist,” he says in a low voice. You’re about to ask him what he means by that when he turns his head to look up at you. “You know I’m a freak, right?”

“What, you mean your blood? Are you seriously still hung up on that? You do realize that literally no one here gives a shit, right? If anything, it puts you in the majority at this point.”

“No, I know that, it’s just, my… mutation—” he has to struggle to get the word out, “it’s not just my blood.”

What? What the shit is that supposed to mean?

“Karkat, you’re not… sick, are you?” Your heart lodges itself in your throat until he laughs flatly.

“No, dumbass. I just. Okay, so, trolls have different colored blood, you know?” You nod. “And we have this organ, our blood pusher, that makes the pigment that goes into our blood and… other bodily fluids.” You nod again, smiling at your immature interpretation of that last bit. “Well, when I was… developing in the egg or whatever. Shit went wrong, or something, I don’t fucking know, but long story short I came out all kinds of fucked up.”

“Why are you telling me this? You’re okay, right?” Shit, why are you so scared? He already told you he’s not dying or anything, right?

“I’m fine. Relatively speaking. Shut up and let me finish.” You comply. “Right, okay, so… red isn’t on the hemospectrum, because it’s not supposed to be a blood color. It’s the color our blood pushers send out in response to irreparable damage. Like Terezi’s eyes, you know?” You nod. That… kind of makes sense? Like, you know that sometimes human tissues turn black when they get all gross and necrotic—you observed a similar effect in some of the dead things you used to collect—so maybe this is kind of the same thing. “So red is sort of a heads up, so to speak, to let predators and other trolls know that you’re hurt really badly, that you’re a liability, or easy prey, or whatever. And that’s what my body is doing, only it’s doing it all the time, even though I’m not hurt.”

“Still sounds like this all has to do with your blood.” To be honest, this whole conversation is kind of freaking you out. You’ve never really thought of Karkat’s mutation as, well, a mutation. It always seemed like just some arbitrary trait that his society decided made him an outcast.

“Yeah, well I’m not done so maybe you should put on your listening hat and stop interrupting. Anyway, like I was saying, something went wrong in my development and I just sort of… came out wrong. Some of the genes got all mixed up somewhere along the way and my body just… never worked right. It’s why my horns came in so nubby, and why my teeth never got very sharp, and why I’m a fucking shrimp compared to every other member of my species… basically I’m a shitty excuse for a troll and I would never have been considered a valuable member of my society because I’m more of a hindrance than help when it comes to fighting and my blood would alert everyone to the fact that I’m a weakling just ripe for the picking.”

You… guess that makes sense. You did always marvel at how light Karkat is, how easy it is for you to just pick him up and throw him around during strifes, how it’s actually not that difficult to physically overpower him, how he’s never really had a hard time restraining himself from biting or clawing at you _too_ hard. But he’s still strong, at least by human standards, and even if he doesn’t believe it himself, even if his culture drilled into his head that it’s not true, he is a really good fighter.

You chance another look at him. He’s still staring pointedly at the ceiling, and you think his eyes look glassy, like he’s been holding back tears, and it gives you this sharp ache right behind your sternum.

“Hey,” you say, wrapping your arms around him once more. “Hey, it’s okay. Fuck, I love you, you know that, right?” And you kiss his temple just because. He grunts in vague acknowledgement. Now his eyes are fixed on your chest.

“And you know none of that shit matters anymore, right?” Another grunt. “Damn it, come here,” you insist, tangling your limbs with his and nuzzling his forehead.

A choked noise that sounds half like a laugh, half like a sob, makes its way out of his mouth. You bring a hand to his chin and gently tilt his face towards yours. His mouth is twisted in a quivering smile and tears are threatening to spill out of his eyes, so you kiss his nose, and then his lips. He whines into your mouth and you feel a few hot droplets spill onto your face. You thread your fingers through the back of his hair and try to pull him closer, deeper, but you know it’s not possible. His hands clutch desperately at your shirt as his lips part and his tongue presses against yours. It feels like fucking sunshine.

(Seriously, how was there a time in your life when you thought kissing was gross?)

The way he’s sort of shaking and whimpering makes something go sideways in your chest, _fuck_ you love him so much, what are you even supposed to do with that? It takes a moment for you to realize that you’re contributing to the noises, a whispered repetition of “ _Karkat, Karkat, Karkat_ ” under your breath with an edge of desperation, desperation for what? For him? That’s stupid, he’s right here, he’s literally as close to you as physically possible, if he got any closer you’d be occupying the same space.

And then he stops kissing you and you kind of want to cry, but he starts nuzzling at your neck which puts his horn right in front of your face, so you take the most logical course of action and start pressing little kisses to the hard keratin. He kicks your foot and mutters into your neck, “What’re you doing.” You know his horns aren’t particularly sensitive unless he’s already aroused, but you like playing with them anyway, if for no other reason than just to mess with him.

“Horn kisses,” you reply matter-of-factly.

“Why.”

“’Cause they’re so cute.” You smile and stick your tongue out to lick at the decidedly cute nub in front of you. It tastes like fingernails.

“That’s stupid. You’re stupid.”

“Am I, though?” And you take the whole thing into your mouth (and it’s totally not as sexy as it sounds) and experiment with swirling your tongue along the ridged surface.

“Ugh, stop it that is so gross I haven’t scraped my horns in weeks Strider I swear to god!”

He makes no move to extricate himself from the situation, but that comment has you pulling your mouth away because “What was that about scraping?” Oh god, you hope it’s nothing too weird. Fucking aliens.

“Horn scraping,” he starts, wiping his horn with the blanket. “You know, they get all… rough and flaky if you don’t take care of them.”

“So do you just use like a… a horn file or whatever?”

“Yes, Dave, that’s exactly what we use.”

“Hm. So does it feel weird?”

“A little, I guess? I don’t know, it’s just a thing you have to deal with.”

“Does it ever…” you lean in until your nose is touching his, “ _turn you on_?”

His face contorts into that familiar expression of anger and confusion with just a splash of disdain. “What.”

“You know, does it get your motor running? Push your buttons, so to speak.” He just glares harder. “Do your horns. Make you horny,” you enunciate with a grin, a grin Karkat is quick to smoosh with his hand.

“I wish for my sake that I could say you are the single most idiotic organism I have ever endured, but _unfortunately_ that would be a lie.”

“Says the troll who doesn’t have a word for being gay even though I’m _pretty sure_ Kanaya—”

“Oh my _god_ just shut up already!” he whines, throwing a pillow over your face. You sputter and throw it back at him.

“Okay, okay, I just have one more question.”

A grumpy-sounding “hm” is your only response.

“Do you like it when I do stuff to your horns?”

“ _Augh_!” he screams, now trying to smother himself with the pillow. “Fuck you.” It comes out muffled.

“Sorry babe, didn’t quite catch that. It sounded a little like, ‘Oh yes, Dave, please fondle my horns some more, you’re so suave and attractive!’” You reach blindly under the pillow only to be met with a hand pushing your arm away.

“Dave. I do not have the energy for this bullshit right now. I’m fucking starving.”

Oh, duh. Karkat should probably have gotten some sustenance as soon as he woke up, but here you’ve been making out and talking about feelings. And now that you think about it, you could go for some food, too.

“Yeah, okay, I could do with something to eat right about now,” you agree, hefting yourself out of bed. You retrieve your pants, then throw Karkat a shirt you had lying around because you can’t be bothered to find his clothes right now in the mess that is your room. He scoffs, but puts it on anyway.

Before you can make it to the door, he’s grabbing the front of your shirt and pulling you down for a quick kiss. He leans in close to your ear and whispers, “Maybe if you’re good, you can play with my horns later.”

(You totally do.)

(It’s fucking awesome.)


End file.
